The True You
by Innocence Has a Gun
Summary: "The real me isn't anything like the me in your songs."


"You make me too- too good in your songs."

Eco's fingertips dance across his stomach, kick-kick-kicking the shirt up higher and higher. Teeth tug at his smiling lips and he leans closer, pushes up the dark hair and kisses his forehead. Belca closes his eyes and breathes, and Eco's fingers skirt up coyly with every rise and stop with every fall of his chest. It's a little enchanting, in all regards, and he watches it through eyes half-lidded with frustration and fatigue.

"I try to portray the real you, Belca."

The fingers stop their dance when the shirt refuses to go higher and step over the bunched fabric instead, walking sideways and up his neck and up his jaw line until, finally, Eco taps his nose and slumps off to the left. He curls up there, right against Belca, a sweet, small line of warm against his side that pushes and pulls closer and farther with every movement.

"The real me isn't anything like the me in your songs."

A sigh, and Belca turns to look Eco when he feels him move; he's curled up like a cat, with a small frown, and his hand comes out to paw at Belca's nose, which scrunches and triggers a frown. A smile alights in his eyes, damning the frown that desperately tries to stay a frown. The smile's tugging at the edges of it though, like a nervous twitch.

"You're your own worst critic. It takes an outsider's look to really determine it."

"I don't think-"

"Stop thinking."

Something grips his heart when Eco slips his hands under his bunched shirt and carefully slips it off; he drops it to the floor and kisses up Belca's shoulder, to the dip of his neck and across his collarbones, a crab's walk to his left again and resting his lips on the shell of his ear. Breathe easy, a voice murmurs in his head, and he's not entirely sure it isn't Eco, because he's not entirely sure he could _hear_ Eco over the heavy pound-pound-pounding of his heart in his ears. He grits his teeth when he feels the lips brush down and hook around the love of his ear, hiss when teeth meet delicate skin, opens his eyes a little wider when they drag down and across his jaw and another kiss is planted _just_ to the left of his lips. He parts them to speak, and Eco takes it as an invitation to run his tongue across them.

"I guess that's a little rude to ask of you, though."

Belca draws the blankets up to his shoulders and turns away, closes his eyes and grits his teeth when he feels calloused fingers carefully, almost trying to be sneaky, slip it off. His shoulder hasn't been under the blankets long enough to tell the difference between the cooler air and the mug under the sheets, but there's still a small, sharp sting before the same fingers gingerly rub circles on the back of his neck. In silence, Eco works the tense muscles with his thumbs, using his whole palms for his shoulder blades and fingers to smooth out the rough spots. He guides Belca until he's on his front, and Eco continues with the other side. It's rudimentary at best - unpracticed, clumsy, and probably the first time he's ever tried - but Belca's thankful for it.

Because no one's ever done it for him. No one's ever wanted to. Eco's the only one, with the hum that starts in his chest and travels between quirked lips, and there's no doubt in his mind that if Linna were here, and he had granted him permission, he would do it, too. It was- different, having people to count on. People who wanted to, not because they had to. To Belca, Linna's gone - and Eco works at that, too, when he feels Belca's shoulders tense back up and his breathing going a little ragged - and the only one he can count on is an enigma. An enigma with clumsy, unexperienced hands and soft, chapped lips that press kisses wherever his hands finish. It gets to where Eco's slipping the blankets lower, tucking them under Belca's waist, just trailing his fingers against his side (Belca squirms, because it tickles, just a little, and it makes Eco giggle), kisses making a path down the knots and dip of his spine, to the edge of his pants and it's there Eco stops, inhales deeply and gives his back a quick rundown with his knuckles.

"Don't think too much of it, okay? It'll be fine. We'll be fine. You'll be fine."

Eco settles back down next to him and grins so wide Belca wonders if it'd split his face in half if he kept it up when he sees how relaxed Belca seems. It isn't the truth; he's still tense, even as he pulls the blankets back and, after a second's consideration, pulls them over Eco, too, who immediately hugs the excess to his chest and closes his eyes. It's after a minute's consideration that Belca, reluctant to respond, nudges his way closer, and hides his face in his pillow when Eco's arms slip around his neck and drag him closer.

"You don't know that."

Eco presses a kiss to his forehead again, thoughtfully, and Belca shoves him away softly. The hold tightens.

"You _don't_. I thought it'd be fine to wait one more day, and you saw what happened."

'No, I didn't' hangs in the air uncomfortably, and Belca buries his head in Eco's shoulder. The unexpected action makes him jump a little; then the hug intensifies and the kisses are in his hair, on top of his head, and circles are being softly rubbed into his back.

"Linna's not here, is he? That's-"

"What'd I say, Belca?"

Belca doesn't want to answer, and grimaces coupled with a hearty glare at Eco when he pinches the vulnerable skin of his back. Expectant eyes answer him, and the prince only scowls in response, hurriedly turning away and getting immediately caught by arms. It's a little suffocating, a little heated, and something hints to him that this wasn't entirely unlike how it'd felt when they'd first met.

"I said for you not to think too much. Have a little faith. Even if Orhladi's not here with us, he's still here. Didn't you say that? 'Everything's fine, because Linna's here,' wasn't it?"

"Shut up, Eco."

Despite the tired, irritated voice, Eco presses on.

"What'd he say if he saw you like this?"

"He'd probably ask what the hell you were doing to me. Politely."

That's- that brings an entirely different kind of smile to the bard's lip, wry and wholly amused by the mental image, and he laughs, an entirely alien sound as of late.

"Probably. Hey, Belca?"

He thinks he's going to regret it, but he glances over his shoulder anyways; Eco kisses the tip of his nose, leans his head on his shoulder, and sighs, a little happier sounding than earlier.

"Sleep well. Don't go outside, okay?"

"Why would I?"

No reply; Eco's already fast asleep, arms loosely, comfortably, looped around his neck and Belca groans. He eyes his shirt lying on the floor and decides that's it's too much trouble to get it - especially when the second he makes to move forward, the arms tighten and Eco moves a little closer. He closes his eyes, exhaustion a pair of stones dragging them down, and lets sleep wash away the night.


End file.
